A/N So, first I spent all of yesterday writing a whole new fic (that I'm now shamelessly advertizing. haha)...then I update this one today...lets just say that my uni paper is not getting the attention it should be getting..haha
Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed on the last chapter!!! You guys are amazing, and your reviews mean the world to me!
I have the best beta ever - Abby - you should read her story! its amazing!
Disclaimer: It hurts to admit it...but I don't own Gossip Girl
This is a fairly short one...but I would love to know what you think of it! your reviews are what keeps me motivated and they are such an amazing inspiration!
His phone – buzzing wildly and casting a pale glow in the dark room from where it is lying on the bedside table – is what wakes him up. He briefly considers letting the call go straight to voicemail, but changes his mind and pushes the green button.
He growls something incomprehensible into the receiver, as he swings his feet over the edge of the bed. Then rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his face with his hand to clear his head.
There is nothing but silence on the other end of the line at first, then a voice cuts through the silence just as he is about to hang up.
"Do you think it could have been us?"
The voice sounds so defeated and broken - the question a mere whisper – that he can't tell who it is at first. Then it hits him, and suddenly he is wide awake.
Blair. Calling him.
"What?" He blurts out, the shock draining his voice of the usual contempt or indifference. "Blair?"
"Do you think it could have been us – you and me – on that dance floor? Looking all happy and destined for one another…" She repeats once more, and he can tell that she has been drinking, probably a lot.
"Are you drunk?" He asks to buy himself some time, caught in an emotional rollercoaster. All the emotions that he usually doesn't allow to surface having been set free from the surprise and flowing without restraint inside of him.
"I don't get drunk…" She points out with a bit of humour in her voice, using a phrase of hers that he knows well, that he has heard on many occasions, "...I drink."
Then she's suddenly serious again.
"Well, do you?"
Does he? Her words are racing through his mind, pulsating through his entire being.
The answer he knows as the truth is nothing but a gut wrenching reminder of everything they could have been.
He could lie. He probably should lie to spare them both the trip down memory lane - to spare himself the walk back to reality.
But he is so sick and tired of hating her in that moment – when she sounds so utterly defeated and heartbroken – that he can't do anything but tell her the truth.
"Yes." He replies in a weary sigh, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand, "Yeah I think that could have been us."
"Me too…" She whispers and he knows that she is crying. And for the first time in a long time, knowing that she is hurting breaks his heart.
"I still hate you, you know…" She points out after a moment's silence, her tone of voice firmer now, "…this doesn't change anything. Between us I mean."
"I wasn't holding my breath, I assure you." He replies, forcing the steel back into his voice.
Closing the door to the past where the two of them was inevitable and destined for forever. Destined for the grand proposal in the magnificent ball room, the beautiful ring from
Tiffany's and the tears of happiness.
"Good…" She replies in a soft voice, and he can hear her draw a ragged breath before repeating again, the steel also back in her voice, "That is good."
And with a click the line drops dead, leaving him alone in the dark bedroom with that aching feeling in his chest.
You hate her, he reminds himself as he gets back under the covers, knowing there is no way he will be going back to sleep anytime soon.
You hate her.
You need to hate her.
The next chapter is on its way, I'm hoping to update sometime during the week (after finishing that damn paper for uni..)
Thanks for reading! :)
Camilla